Dawn of the Dead: Untold Stories
by redwallanderson
Summary: I do not own the characters of Dawn of the Dead. I am gaining no money from this story and it was written simply for fun. Thank you. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

The boat coasted silently in towards the island, the four survivors waiting anxiously. They had lost the engine just a couple of hours before they had sighted land, and Kenneth and Terry, the two men of the small group, had been paddling like fire to reach the island as the boat ran lower and lower in the water.

Terry was still filming with that camera as he paddled with one hand, the boat thumping into the dock. He had irritated everyone blue with that thing, especially Kenneth. Nicole told him to "put that thing down and help her".

Kenneth stepped onto the rotting wood of the small dock first, moving cautiously forward, taking small steps, his shotgun ready for action. "Is there anyone here, do you think?" Ana asked in the sudden silence of the eerie island.

Suddenly, Chips began to bark and tore loose from Nicole's hold on his collar, running off. Slowly, his barks echoed away. "CHIPS! CHIPS COME BACK TO MOMMY!" Nicole yelled hysterically.

"Oh, shit . . . " Zombies were appearing through the trees by the dock and Kenneth pumped the shotgun with a loud KUH-CHUNK. "Stay behind me!" he yelled at the others, beginning to fire at the zombies.

One zombie took a blast point-blank to the face and pitched sideways off the dock into the lake with a loud splash. The corpse floated in the rippling water, turning the water red with blood.

"Shit!" Kenneth yelled again. "I'm out!"

Ana stepped up to cover the big black former policemen with her pistol as he struggled to reload, the zombies running closer. She raised the pistol and shot the first two in the faces and they went down, tripping up their undead comrades.

Terry was getting overzealous, jumping around in fear at the numbers of zombies running in from the woods. He tripped on a rusty exposed nail in the dock and fell, dropping the camera. It probably looked like he had been killed and had dropped the camera, Terry thought as he leaped to his feet and drew his security guard pistol to help Ana.

A zombie fell right in front of him, its bloodied face in the camera's still-running view. Terry backed up along with Ana as Kenneth finished loading up the shotgun and fired sporadically into the horde of sprinters.

"Back to the boat!" Nicole screamed, turning her back on the zombies and dashing down the dock toward their ride.

"NO, NICOLE!" Terry yelled. But it was already too late and he knew it and so did Kenneth and Ana. The boat was keeled on its side, slowly capsizing.

"Omg!" Nicole screamed as she found she was separated from the other three survivors at the end of the dock, weapon-less and with ten zombies bearing down on her, biting her savagely as she shrieked, blood running down her young body.

"Shit . . . " Ana said quietly, then raised her pistol and shot Nicole in the face without suggestion. The body fell with a quiet plop into the lake and sank slowly. With desperate howls of anger and hunger, the zombies that had been pursuing her dove in after the body.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Kenneth said in his deep voice, and Ana and Terry both agreed quickly. The three survivors turned and ran, an army of the dead pursuing them along the island.

"I can't run anymore," Terry gasped, almost falling to his knees before he could support himself with a hand against a tree.

Kenneth turned and looked back. He could see zombies swerving among the trees only about fifty feet behind them. He pumped the Benelli 12-gauge shotgun with that ominous KUH-CHUNK.

"No, Terry. Let's go, or we're leaving you," Kenneth said bluntly. Ana looked at the big black cop, shocked at him.

"We . . . We can't just LEAVE him, Kenneth!" she said, spluttering. "We can do what we want. I've stayed a long while with ya'll, but . . . " Kenneth looked over his shoulder at the sprinters. "Sayonora." He turned and ran off through the trees, leaving Ana standing helplessly beside the winded Terry, with zombies closing in.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit . . . " Ana kept muttering, pulling out her 9mm pistol and watched as Terry followed suit, readying themself for what was surely their last stand.

The first zombie ran into a patch of sunlight shooting down from between the trees. He was horribly burned on the left side of his face, and a charred eyeball hung grossly from the singed optic nerve, the right eye looking . . . loose, somehow.

"Adios . . . " Ana said quietly, and shot it through the forehead, blowing its brains out the back and slumping it down beside a tree.

More zombies replaced it, though, and Terry shot one in the head, but the other seven front-runners were already on them. Terry barely dodged the slavering jaws of one and slammed a sharp branch deep into its chest and out its decaying back, pinning it helplessly to another tree trunk as he turned and fired his pistol into another decay-blackened face.

Ana ducked behind the tree trunk the zombie was pinned to and a ghoul that had been chasing her slammed face-first into the other pinioned stench, toppling sideways with a wet flop. Ana took the oppurtunity to fire a shot downwards into the upturned face.  
She then turned and stuffed the pistol into the waistband of her pants and began to climb the tree rapidly, using the branches to her advantage and thinking the Lord that she had been a tomboy when she was little and had climbed trees even as a teenager to make out with her boyfriends up in the calm of the tree.

"AHHHHHNNNNOOOO!!" Ana looked down at the terrible scene below as she heard the inhuman scream. Terry had shot another zombie in the side of the head before the pistol clicked on a misfire. Terry cursed helplessly and then the three remaining zombies were on him as the rest of the horde appeared in the distance.

Ana turned her face away from the renewed screams and wet chewing and the sounds of running, zombified feet. She jumped from the small tree to a larger one, almost falling into the hungry mass below. Despite his abandonment of her and Terry, Ana hoped Kenneth was okay.

Kenneth stepped cautiously through the woods, holding his shotgun clutched in the crook of his arms like a precious baby, which, in effect, it was to him. He expertly avoiding stepping on twigs that would crack and alert enemies, in this case zombies, to his presence, and he made no noise at all as he traveled through the woods.

He heard a rustle to his left and instantly turned in that direction, aiming the Benelli. After a moment, he heard the rustle again and the bushes to his right shook wildly. Narrowing his eyes, Kenneth turned that way, knowingly exposing his back to the something in the bushes to the left in favor of aiming at the thing in the briars to his right.

"Who's there?" he asked in his deep voice, on the off-chance that it might have been Ana or Terry or even some other living survivor who had made it to the island in some way.  
The briars kept wriggling wildly and then a loud moan issued forth from them. Kenneth stepped forward and pulled apart a section of the briars, crying out and stepping back. A zombie was tangled in the briars, moaning loudly for his flesh.

This was no ordinary zombie, however. This zombie had been his friend and comrade for untold days during the zombie apocalypse. This was Terry.

"Oh my god . . . " Kenneth said quietly. He brought up the shotgun after a moment and aimed it carefully and slowly between Terry's blank, milky eyes, just as he had with Frank, back at Crossroads.

BOOOM! The shotgun answered.

Ana looked down at the thirty or so zombies that had stayed under her tree while the rest of the horde ran off in pursuit of something else that had run past them, probably a deer or rabbit, Ana speculated. Couldn't tell, on some barren, unknown island like this.  
While her brain worked logically and tried to figure out a solution to her terrible problem, Ana was also counting the bullets she had left for her nine millimeter. The number came to . . .

"Three?" Ana asked herself out loud. "Well, I'm up shit creek without a paddle, now, aren't I?"

"Yeah . . . Well, you were!"

Ana blinked and looked down to see where the loud, feminine voice was coming from. Below her, leaning casually against a tree about fifty feet from Ana and the zombies and with a cigarette poking from her full lips stood the woman who Ana would come to know as Jane Fredge.

Ana gasped. Not just because she actually saw a new survivor. Because the woman held an M-16 and had a backpack bulging with M-16 magazines.

"HOLY SHIT!" Ana exclaimed. She rarely cussed except in anger or shock, and she was both at the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**

_In this chapter, Dawn of the Dead: Untold Stories ceases to be simply my story, because I brought in my online friend Lupus to help me and expand on the story. So that might help the story. His is the character of Mike. I usually write the characters of Jane, Ana and of course Kenneth. Enjoy and please review._

CHAPTER TWO

Jane smiled up at Ana. "I'd introduce myself, but I've gotta save you from these zedheads." She switched her gaze to the thirty zombies now running rapidly towards her position, and brought up the M-16. "Hasta la vista baby," she said, calmly and clearly, and then fired one shot. A zombie roared the nanosecond before its head exploded in two like a ripe tomato, spilling brains, gore and bits of rotten skull all over the place.

The zombies were a hell of a lot closer now. Jane switched to full auto and began firing, sending a hellacious fury of close-range fire into the approaching stenches. One, hit thirty or forty times in the chest, jerked and writhed and twitched upright like it had been given ten thousand volts repeatedly, then finally fell backwards, a smoking, moaning nightmare of horror. Only ten zombies made it through that hell of bullets. Jane dropped the M-16 and drew her sidearm, a .357 Magnum, blowing one zombie's head literally off its shoulders. She brought up her foot and kicked another in the chest, the stench's ribs crumbling from the force as it was thrown backwards. Jane shot another zombie in the side of the face, blasting that side of the face through the other side. Then the Magnum's hammer clicked down on an empty cartridge. "Fuck." Now, unlike Ana, Jane was no stranger at all to cussing. In fact, they were good friends. She dodged the lunge of a zombie and slammed her elbow into the back of its head hard enough to spletch its face out the front.

Ana shot another three zombies from her perch in the tree, using up her already-limited supply of ammo. Jane indicated her thanks with a thumbs up and reloaded her .357 with the time bought by Ana and finished off those three zombies left and the twitchers remaining from the hell of close-range M-16 fire.

"Now, let's get you down from that tree and find your friends. I know an old hermit who lives pretty much nearby, name of Mike. He's the kinda medical practitioner for the island. Let's go."

--

Mike moved about the house, going a little stir crazy with the isolation. Sure, after Suzanne had passed on a year back, he had become the local hermit, retreating into himself. About the only time he went out was when he recieved calls from town requiring the doctor's services. And even then, he usually tried to keep those to a minimum.

However, ever since the problems started arising in town, he had avoided contact with the town totally. And now, after a few weeks of enforced isolation, he was going a little crazy. At first, it hadn't been too bad. With the various radio stations on the mainland still transmitting, he was able to keep abreast of the situation in the outside world. However, as things grew more and more dire, and radio stations slowly stopped broadcasting, Mike found himself desparate for more information. The number of times he had tried to call friends in town had come to nothing. It had almost been as if the world outside of his home had just simply ceased to exist.

THe problem was compounded by the fact that with all the dire news being broadcast early on, Mike had just retreated more into himself, afraid to wander back into town to assess what had just happened. So, he was all alone, on his own side of the island, where the only way in and out, was via his boat. Either that, or the miles of deep dense forest outside. However, the situation was coming to an end. His desire for information of the outside world was beginning to over ride his fears and the past few days, Mike found himself packing for a trip outside.

Or, at the very least, a boat trip up the coast to check on his nearest neighbours. But, at the very last instance, he just found that he lost his nerve and found some excuse to back down. Today though, he had resolved to make a move. All the bags were packed. He had picked up his 0.022 rifle just in case there was any problems and the boat had been fully fueled. Now...there was just one more thing to do...

--

Later that day, Mike groaned as he somehow frittered another day away, making excuses and avoiding the inevitable. Unpacking his gear from his boat to return to his house, Mike was cursing himself. Another day, another excuse. One good thing though, it gave him another night in the observatory. His one and only respite from the constant boredom. Well, that and the gardening and maintenance of his modest vegetable garden.

Just as Mike reached the door, he heard the loud boom of a firearm going off in the background. Startled by the sound, his first reaction was to reach for the door, ready to barricade himself within the house. Ever since the news of the problems from the mainland had come over the radio, Mike had tried his best to fortify the house. However, as reason reasserted himself, he found an overwhelming sense of curiosity as to where the sound had originated from. The nearest neighbour was a few miles away. Granted, sound could travel that far, but this sounded a lot closer.

Dumping his gear within the house, Mike grabbed his rifle and moved into the yard, hoping for other sounds in order to help him locate their origin...Kenneth ran into the yard of the property, pursued by ten or twelve zombies at a swift jog. He fired the shotgun over his shoulder, shredding some bark off a tree, but not hitting any of the zombies. The big cop cursed, then pumped the shotgun and kept running along the yard. He dove behind the house, rolled and came up firing as the first two zombies rounded the corner and both fell, one's head blasted to a pink-gray mess on one of the window, another gasping and gurgling with a massive hole through its throat.

Ken pumped the Benelli and sent another blast into that ghoul's head and tried to fire again as the next deadzed rounded the corner as well. He closed his eyes as he heard the most dreaded sound that a person could hear during a zombie crisis. The click of an empty weapon. "Jesus, Mary, Mother of God." Kenneth backpedaled rapidly. "SOMEBODY HELP ME, FOR CHRISSAKES! HELP!!" He knew it was useless, but he had to try. Maybe Ana was still out there. Kenneth sure hoped so, more than he had ever hoped for anything in his entire, thirty-eight year long life.

Ana was currently indisposed, running along through the woods, dodging trees as she tried to keep up with the much more athletic and slim Jane, who was whisking through the trees overhead like a female Tarzan or something, the M-16 dangling from a shoulder strap.

On the way, Jane told Ana her story: "Well, I had been in the Corps, you know, and I was on leave down in Wheskville, past Everett where you said you lived? But, I got called back to try and help defend Fort Pastor, and I got there and all, got issued my weapon and my uniform, then the fort was overrun. Everyone died . . . Except me . . . I got away in one of the Humvees, there . . . " She jumped down from the tree, a tear running down her cheek.

"So, here I am...And here's my prize possession because of it . . . " She patted the butt of the M-16 like a man would a coveted lover. "She's my baby, and she's saved my life innumerable times on this stinking piece of rock they call a fucking island."

As Mike moved away from his front porch, the sight of a big man darting through the cleared land followed by what appeared to be a horde of zombies startled Mike. His first reaction was to head back indoors, locking the door and hoping it would all blow away. After all, this wasn't his fight. Why should he get invovled. His next reaction was anger. How dare that bastard drag the problems of the world to his safe haven? Who was this interloper? Mike raised his rifle, considering taking a shot at the stranger.

After all, he was trespassing, and bringing all the troubles of the world to his place. Followed by curiosity...Where did these creatures come from? What the hell were they? His eyes scanning the approaching group of figures, Mike did not recognize the man in the lead. However, amongst the group tailing him, Mike could make out the figures of George and Annie McIntyre, who ran the bakery in town. Followed by Tony Ross, who worked the one and only gas station. Eric Banner, Courtney the cute waittress in the cafe...the names just kept rolling through Mike's head.

However, although he could recognize who they were, they weren't exactly the same people he remembered from town. There seemed to be a feral, frenzied nature about them. The groaning and moaning sound emanating from the townsfolk just totally creeped Mike out. And, looking more closely, a lot of the townsfolk seemed to be sporting wounds that would normally have stopped a healthy individual in their tracks.

Take for example George...he seemed to be missing his right arm, which ended in a ragged bloody tear, just above the elbow. And yet, the wound did not seem to be gushing blood as would have expected. Or Tony, who seemed to be missing a good chunk of his right cheek, where the flesh seemed to have been torn off on a bloody heap. And the list of injuries went on and on and on... About the only thing they all had in common seemed to be the grotesque, horrendous and usually fatal injuries they all sported. And yet, here they were, running as fast as ever, as if hopped up on some drug or other and chasing this stranger.

And this newcomer, when compared with the townsfolk, he just appeared positively normal. If you leave out the part where he appeared as wide as two normal individuals and powerfully built. Mike watched curiously, almost mesmerised by the scene before him, as the man dodged behind his observatory, rolling up and taking out Tony, the first of the townsfolk round the corner of the building. Tony' head disappearing in a cloud of pink matter. The black man's next shot taking George in the throat, leaving a gaping hole where solid flesh used to be. And yet, George kept moving towards the stranger. Mike had to rub his eyes in disbelief. This could just not be.

At that moment, Mike watched as the stranger pumped his shotgun, only to hear the click of an emptied weapon. THis was followed by what appeared to a prayer/curses followed by screams of help The sudden sound of the man's voice startling Mike out of his trance. What the hell was he to do? His rifle raised, Mike swung the sights between the strange, but yet familiar townsfolk and the stranger. Who was the greater danger here? The people he knew? Or this stranger, who seemed to bring all the ills of the world upon Mike's little haven here. Finally, after a few seconds of hesitation, Mike fired off his rifle, the round impacting straight into George's forehead. The shot seemed to do its job, with George finally falling prone onto the floor. "Over here!" screamed Mike as he gestured towards the house. As the stranger started running towards the house, Mike rattled off a few more shots. The first clipping Annie in the shoulder and Eric in the torso. Both seemed unaffected by the shot. As the stranger made it to the house, MIke opened the door and ran in after the man, slamming the door shut before the first of the townsfolk made it onto the porch. Looking down at the stranger, Mike spoke out as he aimed his rifle at the stranger. "You had better have one hell of an explanation over what the hell is going out there mister!"


End file.
